Ivan was in a good place. Nah. He was in a great place. Excited even. Yeah, he wanted to start practicing. Like big time. For the first time in he didn't know how long, he had hope. Like real hope.

His heart twisted, not in pain. More like..he didn't know. Happiness. He could almost feel Zara falling asleep next to him as he read to her. He imagined feeling Danya's back against his chest, him holding her close.

Like he'd been waiting all this time for his real life to begin. Freedom was out there.

"I owe you Nox. More than you can imagine."

The poor man looked broken. Even as he had channeled and taught, there was little fire. And Ivan felt for the guy. He knew the look.

They didn't say much until they were sitting against the wall of Cafe MIO in the plush chairs. Back to the wall, right? Always paranoid. But maybe cuz it was also nice to check out the local talent. Well, before, anyway. And he did have eyes.

Nox needed a drink. He could tell. Hopefully, one of the servers would take their order soon. Let Nox open up.

I want to wish all of you a wonderful holiday season and best wishes for the new year to come. 

It was on a Christmas holiday vacation while I was in grad-school that I "came up with" the idea for a RP forums set in the age before the age of legends. I soon became obsessed with reading everything (canon, theory, fan-opinions, etc) that had to do with WoT in the 1st age. Then I started reading about all the old pantheons and knew immediately that I wanted to write a reborn Hades whose name would be Nikolai. Of course I knew nothing else about the site or setting at the time, only that I didn't want it to be primarily in the USA, futuristic but not sci-fi, and have "monsters" for all of us to fight. 

So every time around this year, I sit and think about how grateful I am for all of you who've contributed to the richness of this world. All of us together make this game fun, and I hope it continues for a long time to come. 

Cheers,
~A

The last of the items hosted off of our new server has been migrated over.

The chatroom can now be found at: http://thefirstage.org:9000

If you previously bookmarked it please change it to the above url.  I will be killing that server once I move everything off of it the new one I just spun up.

From The Voodoo Queen (@"Ashavari")

Asha trusted his instincts.  That wasn't a first, but for some reason that felt warm and comforting.  He hadn't come here with a con in mind and certainly Rowan Finnegan had been interesting, but there was nothing here worth getting in on as either Tobias and certainly not Alexis.  The french man saw nothing to profit from in there, and the dutch junkie well he wanted to no part of the crazy witch.  

But Xander had found a woman who could read emotions and he had been a mess and she trusted him.  That was new.  He smiled as she left the building all together, still holding his hand.  Xander followed and walked unsure where they were going or if they even had a destination other than to get away.  Each step felt better, than the one before unit he was breathing easier.

"I should walk you home.  Make sure no one is following us."  Xander said cautiously.  Not that he could do much beyond call the police or try to fight the offender, but still he felt chivalrous around Asha, like she needed to be protected.  Very uncharacteristic.  To change the subject, "Are you really going to send your 'good' snake friend to the voodoo queen?"  Xander smirked, "I think she is getting more than she bargained for now."

The boat rocked and rose, swayed and slipped. Tristan barely kept his feet under him as the water sloshed his rubber shoes slippery. It was only a steel will that pushed through the rain and snag the bars. Rain pelted his scalp when the hood fell away. Rushes of air flushed his cheeks, and he wretched from the seat of his soul.

Or so it felt; and it had felt every single time the vessel heaved on high waves. For the hundredth time, Tristan marveled at his weak stomach even as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grew up fishing with his Uncle Ulfar. As a man he reeled in great catches from skiffs he managed alone, Siggi pawing at the edge in excitement.

But the great fishing vessels that his friend arranged for his new work in Norway were an entirely new experience. The fishermen told him his stomach would learn the new wavy world, but a month passed and Tristan was less than useful.

His career on the seaboarding vessel came to an end, and Tristan was not saddened by the outcome. He was still in need of work, but Tristan was hardly without skillsets. The small house he occupied was situated at the edge of a coastal town; not expensive compared to the tiny abodes of the inner town squares. Each afternoon, Tristan prowled the area as the light leaned to coming night. Iceland’s nights lasted months, but here, the thin sun persisted a few hours each day. It was an odd change to drench himself in sunshine this time of year.

By the time the earliest signs of spring crept through the wilderness, Tristan was working as hired-hands at whatever odd jobs around the town he could find. His brute strength and easy-going nature earned him a sort of reputation with the town folk despite the heavy accent that thickened his tongue. Nobody commented on his golden eyes, though sometimes the fishermen whispered that an animal like him belonged on land.

He was walking around an empty house carrying a ladder when a scent turned his nose aside. Ears prickled, he halted. Imagine his surprise as he turned to look under the remains of a wood pile and a pair of eyes peered back at him.

Silence.

                Meera enjoyed silence… Most of the time. There were other sounds in existence that she enjoyed considerably more, but more often than not it was silence. There was a certain control in silence. A calm came with that silence, one that she could rarely replicate. True, she enjoyed pleasure and the exhilaration that came with losing one's self to said pleasure, but this silent serenity was at the other end of that spectrum, and she so cherished it. The two polarities kept her balanced, at least that’s what she liked to tell herself.

                A lie.

                She knew it was a lie, and one she shouldn’t even entertain. Meera Alam was the Eye of God. The Sacred Mirror. She who would burn through Humanity’s Ego and expose all of the lies that they clung to. It was an affront to her very nature to even tell a white lie, but there it was. She would repent for it, as she always did, and she would take even more pleasure in that repentance. Such a funny thought to associate with faith. Many of the world’s faiths did not equate God with pleasure, but if there were a Divine Being, did it not create everything in the physical universe? Including pleasure, pain, control, and all of the things in between? Human Nature was a state imposed upon her species, and she would not deny it, but there was a misconception about said state amongst her fellow humans…

                They lived with a veil over their eyes, a chosen state of ignorance, endlessly gluting themselves on the fables they told themselves to help them sleep at night. Emotion. That was the true root of the problem. Yes, the Divine had made emotion as well, but it soiled everything. Emotion had been the thing that had cursed her childhood, twisted her ‘family.’ A cancer. Love was a cancer… A funny thought, but how many loved things that brought them ruin? Father loved his cult. He died. Mother loved other men. She died. Yoseph loved protecting others. He died. Meera didn’t love. She simply was. The Buddhists had it right, attachments only tied one down. Without love, Meera was flourishing. Yes. It stung. But the freedom was worth it.

                Sitting in front of her vanity stand, seated in her automated wheelchair, Meera applied the eyeliner with care. Her hand shook as an abrupt noise shook the air.

                Meera padded at the crooked line with micellar water and a cotton pad. The offending mark was wiped away from her cheek like magic.

                Chuckling to herself, Meera gave herself a shake. Just the air conditioning kicking in, or something along those lines…

                It was a sad thing that the Atharim could not afford to foot all of her living expenses. The Divine knew that they professed such need of her and her work in the civilian world. She had brought many gifts to the cult, and they wept with gratitude every time she wheeled into the offices. And where did that get her? A two story flat in the CCD that she had to pay for… True they took care of her food and other inconsequential details, but the rent was a real killer in this neighborhood. Just how much of a salary did they think a Psychiatric Nurse, at the worst hospital in town, made? Not enough.

                It was a lucky thing she had no social life to speak of, well, not one most would consider conventional at least. She worked at the Guardian by day, and by night is when she made her art. That had been the dream for many artists, was it not? Getting paid to create what their souls craved to express? True, she took certain liberties when taking on a commission, but her patron was always left speechless at the results. It almost seemed a crime to charge others for what she had done so naturally, but when they offered to before one even asked for the check? Well, one could hardly refuse… She did need to eat, after all.

                The phantom sound reverberated through the air as she was finishing up another eyelid.

                Another mistake.

                One more wipe of the micellar water and her face was ready for another application.

                A canvas, half-finished, sat behind her, leaned against the wall. She would get to that one soon enough. True, she had enough materials to finish the piece, but those things were reserved for another project. With a sigh to herself, she made a mental note to acquire more… And soon. This particular patron had been kept waiting long enough, but that other project had enraptured almost every bit of her attention. So many avenues to explore there, many a night she lay sleepless, just toying out all the possibilities that this one project might yield. She was the patron in this instance, of course. That was nothing to be ashamed of. An artist needed their own side-projects to prevent themselves from descending into psychosis.

                The sound came a third time after she finished her face, thankfully. Although an unnecessary burden, she would have to investigate this further before leaving her humble house to start her unnecessary shift at the Guardian.

                Meera wheeled herself from her room and down the ramp that led to the main level of her home. It was a pristine abode, free of dirt and grime, everything in sterile shades of white, black, and maroon. A clean environment. She was the mistress here and everything was perfectly maintained as she saw fit. It was comfortable, quaint.

                She came onto the landing, proceeded into the living room, through a hallway, and finally into the kitchen. A large metal door was embedded into the wall to Meera’s left, one of the only things in this house that the Atharim had actually paid for. It was necessary for her work as a doctor… Well, her work as a nurse. She would have been a doctor, before her calling to the CCD, Meera was about to enroll with the University once more to pursue a Doctorate, but then the Atharim called.

                It was of no consequence. She had been finding that this country truly needed her help, a skilled touch only one such as she could grant. So many citizens of this land had found themselves unwell. It was their fault, always, but that’s why the Divine had placed her upon this Earth. To correct those illnesses.

                The sound struck out again, this time Meera knew it was a physical one… And it was behind the door.

                With the swipe of a keycard across the electronic panel built into the side of the door, Meera found herself gingerly wheeling down a ramp located on the other side. The door itself had led to a basement that she had dug out when purchasing this particular home. Such a bother. Back in Egypt, Meera owned two floors of a condo, plus the entirety of its basement. That particular locale also had an elevator for her ease, not like these barbaric ramps, but she hadn’t the money for all of that… Especially when this was only supposed to be a temporary assignment.

                The sound began to form into something solid as Meera made her way down.

                An annoyance, no matter what it was. Perhaps later she would have time to truly enjoy the cacophony of this particular source, but she hadn’t the time now. It was forming words now. Still, nothing to worry over. It would only take a few moments to put a band-aid over this particular problem.

                Later.

                Later on, after her shift, she would have time to really get her hands dirty.

The following is a recent excerpt from a local social justice blog, Mother Russia. The article is aptly named, 'Mother Russia and the Mental Health Monster.' Much of the text details the state of Psychiatric affairs and laws within the CCD, criticizing it at points; Meera Alam is mentioned in an off-handed way, half-praising the CCD, through pompous prose.

 “…Meera Alam, graduate at the top of her classes at Cairo University School of Medicine, has recently been accepted into the nursing staff of the state-run health facility, The Guardian. Nurse Meera has an outstanding track record from her time spent in the many psychiatric facilities across Egypt. Many local critics hope that her recent employment with the facility is the heraldic sign of a new, sympathetic, and holistic approach to care for the mentally ill located within the ill-reputed Guardian.”